


Homecoming

by MezMoriah



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16177148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MezMoriah/pseuds/MezMoriah
Summary: This is basically some fluff I've wanted to write since the new trailer for DMC 5 came out. How I want Dante's homecoming to go, essentially. Give me something cute and nice before you rip my heart out, Capcom.





	Homecoming

He had taken it all for granted. Temperatures that weren’t scorching hot or limb-freezing cold. The crispness of autumn had begun to creep in on summer’s heat. Not too hot, not too cold. He breathed in the scents of his neighborhood: the comfort food from the diner, cookies and cakes from the bakery, the smell of rain to come, car exhaust, garbage, sewage, wet dog from packs in the alleys, piss, alcohol from Bullseye Bar. He thought he would never get the stench of rot and death and fire and misery from his nose; everything smelled sweeter. Moans of the damned and the clash of weapons were replaced by the rumble of passing cars, the chatter of people walking by or inside a café or walking through the park, barks, screeches, and the scuttling of paws big and small on the concrete. 

For the first time in what he could only assume was years, Dante felt alive. 

He didn’t know how long he had been in the demon world. Time passed differently there. Ten, twenty, fifty years could have passed even though everything looked the same, save for a few upgrades and a few buildings for sale. As he walked the streets, clothes torn, disheveled hair, smudges of blood and who knew what else on his face and neck he guessed by the stares he invoked, he had nothing more on his mind than to go home. To face plant on his bed and sleep—truly sleep—until he woke up again. 

Home. He truly was home. He thought he would never see it or his friends who had become family again. On numerous occasions, he thought he would die there, picked off by some crafty demon or overpowered by another. If not dead, trapped for all eternity. But, he had made it, and he wasn’t bothered by anything. Not the stares. Not the cat scurrying after a rat, nearly tripping him. Not the distant rumble of thunder or the first raindrop to plop on his right cheek. 

Dante reached the steps of Devil May Cry, a smile—perhaps the first genuine smile he’d worn in ages—crept onto his lips. With the neon pink sign off, the letters gray and nearly blending in with the walls, the building faded into the background with the ones around it. Unassuming. Bleak. Boring. He absently wondered if anyone had kept the place up for him. Considering the Devil Arms and dangerous artifacts he kept, he hoped Trish or Lady would at least check in once in a while. Make sure no one robbed the place and opened up a portal to hell. 

He skipped up the steps two at a time, fishing his keys from his pocket. He was surprised they survived the ordeal, but grateful. He had a spare in the lamp by the door, but who knew if it was still there. Key fit neatly inside the lock—a good sign, meaning no one had sold the place off or changed the locks in his absence—and the hybrid turned it. He pushed open the door with the zeal of a child on Christmas morning. Of a man who thought he would never see his home again. 

To his surprise, the place had been cared for, save for a fine layer of dust here and there. The office looked almost exactly as he had left it, decorations and all, but sans the pizza boxes he had most likely left behind. His eyes drank in everything: the pool table, the jukebox, his leather couch and matching coffee table. He wandered over to his desk. Cleared of the normal beer bottles, magazines, and case files that usually littered the surface, all the remained were the antique phone and the framed photo of his mother, both seemingly untouched. 

The latter Dante lifted up gingerly, as if it might crumble in his hand by a mere touch. He brushed dust from the glass protecting the image as he rested his hip against the desk. His chest tightened and he felt tears burn his eyes. This was real. He was home. He escaped that literal hell and home. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his forearm as he smiled down at his mother. He did this for her. For all the humans who got caught up in the bull shit demons decided to inflict on them. To make sure no one went through what he did, or met the fate of his loving mother and brother. For Lady and Trish. Patty and Lucia. It all started with her. 

“Don’t move or I’ll blow your damn head off.” 

Lost in his own thoughts and emotions, Dante failed to hear the door open or the click of the pistol’s safety as it was seamlessly drawn and pointed at his head. That voice. He knew it better than any at this point in his life, even after so long. Despite the threat, and that usually the voice meant he was about to get scolded about his cleanliness or eating habits, or given some crappy job in the middle of nowhere, or nagged about his debt, or asked for comfort because no one else could understand the shit she’s been through, he couldn’t be happier to hear it. To know she was still alive. 

Dante set the frame back on his desk and raised his hands in surrender. “You’ve tried that one me before, babe. When we first met.” 

He heard her gasp and, sensing the danger of being shot had passed, he turned around to face her. He kept his hands raised at shoulder height as a grin spread over his face. Her face had paled, and her plump lips had parted in a silenced cry of shock. She lowered the gun slowly back to her side and stared wide eyed at her demon hunting partner. And in that moment, she had never looked more beautiful to him. He wanted to drink in every detail about as she stood in the doorway, bathed in the murky light that struggled through midafternoon storm clouds. 

The twitch of movement broke his concentration. “Wait, don’t move.” Lady halted a few steps from where she had frozen previously, her eyebrows dipping downward over bicolor eyes. “Just...stay right there for a minute, then you can punch me, shoot me, whatever you gotta do. I need this, Lady. I need to know it’s real.” 

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as her free hand balled into a fist at her side, the other white-knuckled on her gun. Dante took the moment to study her. She hardly looked a day older than when he had last seen her; he couldn’t see a wrinkle on her face. The scar across her nose had faded more, he could barely see it from this distance. She wore simple clothing that day, a white button-down shirt, black shorts, and boots, and only carried a single pistol rather than her whole arsenal. He noted the faded scars on her legs and arms, memorized the newer, fresher ones. She looked beautiful to him, more beautiful than anything else possibly could in that moment. 

Though she tried to wear a brave face—more appropriately, a scowl—tears glimmered in her eyes, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. As if she knew he noticed her tears, she decided he had had long enough to gawk. The famed demon huntress launched herself forward. Her arms flung around his waist and she buried his face in his chest. She choked out a sob and her gun clattered to the floor as her fists beat against his back. Dante felt hot tears wet his chest through the holes in his top. 

“You stupid asshole...” She sniffed and managed one last strike to his back before collapsing against him. “I...I thought you were dead. We all did...” 

Dante wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her. Her body against his was so warm. She smelled like vanilla and gun powder. Her skin felt soft to the touch. If he died in that moment, he would do so without a regret. The moment felt so perfect to him. So healing. All the horrors, all the shit he experienced in hell melted away as they held each other. The moment was so raw. So real. If he had felt alive before, upon stepping back in the human realm, this moment with Lady elevated him above alive. He would have kissed her if he thought it wouldn’t end with a bullet in his head. He wanted to kiss her. 

“Sorry...didn’t have much time to text all of you.” He chuckled, earning him another punch to the ribcage. “Alright, alright. I really am sorry. I didn’t have a choice.” 

Lady tried to take a step back, but he held fast to her. She huffed, but tilted her head back instead, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him. Red and blue eyes sparkled with tears, and the shed ones had left trails down her cheek. Dante raised a thumb to wipe them away. She sniffed, arms tightening around him. 

“You’re a mess.” She brought a hand to his chest and fingered a burn hole in the leather. “And you smell.” 

“Well, hell ain’t exactly full of rose gardens, babe,” he shot back. Nothing she or anyone else could say or do would ever wipe the grin from his face. “But, I’d be more inclined to shower if ya joined me. I’ve been fighting for probably years down there, and I could use the help reaching my back.” 

Lady snorted. “Nice try, Dante.” She tried to pull away again but the half demon held onto her. She hummed and rested a gentle hand on his cheek. He tilted his face into her touch, her comforting featherlight fingers. “I’ll be right here when you get done. I’m not going anywhere. Promise.” 

Dante rested his hand on top of hers; she always knew just want to say. And this time, it wasn’t in the form of yelling at him. He brushed his thumb over the top of her hand and nodded. His arms fell to his sides, but he held her hand a moment longer. 

“Okay. I’ll be quick.”


End file.
